Chapter 17
Alexandria
Night fell three hours ago and my stomach is growling. I open the door a crack and poke my head out. Voices carry from the kitchen. A cupboard door slams. Something metallic hits the counter.
I should help with dinner.
Can’t stay in here forever.
Behind me, Tabitha is circling the room, tail high, exploring the boundaries of her new territory.
“Stay,” I tell her, which has never worked in her life, and won’t now.
I pull the door firmly shut and check the handle. I don’t want her slipping out, panicking at the sight of the bear-men, and disappearing for good.
I head down the hall.
Gunnar stands at the counter with his back to me, a dish towel thrown over one shoulder. There’s a cutting board in front of him, and he’s chopping at a hunk of meat with a cleaver.
I go to the sink to get a glass of water.
He throws a glance at me.
“Hey,” I manage to say.
“Hey.”
Torin is at the opposite counter, working his way through an onion.
A pan is heating on the stove, oil starting to smoke.
“Too hot,” I say.
“What? …Oh.” Gunnar reaches for it.
So do I.
Our arms collide. I jerk back before we send hot oil everywhere.
“Sorry.” His hand closes around my wrist. “You okay?”
I nod.
He lets go.
My wrist still tingles.
I flex my fingers, like that might get rid of it.
It doesn’t.
He turns the heat down, slides the pan off the ring.
Then he goes back to chopping.
I eye the way Torin is massacring the onion. I take the other side of the counter, pulling a second board toward me.
“Let me help.”
“It’s okay.” Torin grins, but he looks wrecked.
“You’ve had a long day. Let me do this.”
He relents. “Alright. All yours, girl boss.”
He grabs a beer from out the back, drops into one of the kitchen chairs, kicks out another one and puts his feet up, then cracks it open and takes a long drink, letting out an exaggerated ahhh.
Now it’s just Gunnar and me.
Side by side.
I wonder if his skin is prickling the way mine is.
I keep my focus on the board.
I cut the onion finer than I need to. Then finer again.
I grab another one.
“Ready for the onion?” I say a few minutes later. My voice comes out high and tight.
“Yeah.” He flicks the gas back on.
I tip the onion into the pan. It hits the oil with a soft hiss.
I catch his scent. The same one that filled my nostrils when he was kissing me last night—
I stir the onion fast and step away.
I clear the counter, scraping the waste into the trash.
The onion starts to color.
I reach for the salt.
He gets there first. Our fingers brush. He snatches his hand away like I’ve burned him.
I take the salt, add a pinch, stir, then step back.
He moves in again, sliding the meat into the pan beside the onion.
It sizzles like crazy. I lean in, stir furiously with the wooden spoon.
“Too hot?” he says.
“Yeah, I think so.”
He turns it down.
“Maybe some water?”
“Just a splash.”
He grabs a glass and pours it in slowly.
I watch his hand on the glass. His big, thick forearm flexing.
Behind us, Torin gets up, the chair legs scraping across the floor.
He goes to the sink, fills a glass, takes a drink.
“You want me to—”
“No,” I say.
“No,” Gunnar says at the same time.
We both stop.
Torin huffs out a breath. “Right.”
He sets the glass down and leans back against the counter instead, arms folded, staying out of the way.
The pan crackles. A mouthwatering smell fills the room.
At last, the meat is done.
I set some plates on the counter. “Orson joining us?”
“Nope,” Gunnar says quickly.
Three then.
I turn the heat off, grab a dish towel and go to lift the pan.
“Here.” Gunnar takes it from me. “It’s heavy.” He carries it to the counter.
I pick up a spoon, he tilts the pan, and I start serving. One, two, three portions. Gunnar follows me, holding the pan at just the right angle.
When we’re done, he picks up two of the plates and carries them to the table.
I sense Torin’s attention flicking between us. “You two alright?”
My grip tightens on the spoon. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
He shrugs. “Just asking.”
Gunnar sets the plates down. “We’re fine.”
“Alright,” Torin says, like he doesn’t quite believe it, but lets it go.
I bring the silverware over and set it down beside the plates.
Torin and Gunnar dig in like they haven’t eaten all day.
My stomach’s tight. I focus on the plate, cutting smaller pieces than I need to.
Gunnar doesn’t look up.
I keep wanting him to.
Instead, I turn my attention on Torin. “How was it really?” I ask.
Torin gives me a kind smile, then sets his fork down. “It went fine,” he says. “The cops had already spoken to your friend, so she knows what’s going on.”
I nod. “She was okay?”
“Yeah. Shaken, but okay.” He takes a sip of his drink. “They’ve got someone with your mom as well. Keeping an eye on her.”
I let out a breath. “Thank goodness.”
At last, Gunnar looks in my direction. “Glad to hear this, Alexandria.”
“Thank you,” I say quickly.
“Melissa and I talked about what to do with Little Miss Tiddles,” Torin continues.
“Tabitha,” I correct with a smile.
“She couldn’t keep her at her place—she’s allergic—and I gather your mom’s not the most…” he trails off looking embarrassed.
“It’s fine. No, she’s not.”
He clears his throat. “I figured it was more of a risk for Melissa to keep going over to feed him than for me to just go that one time and collect him. So, I went in last night at three a.m. It was real quiet, no one watching the place.”
I almost ask how he knew that, then stop myself. Bear shifter, that’s how.
“Figured I might as well grab a bunch of your stuff while I was there. Then I took the long way back. Made sure no one was following me.”
I let out a long breath. “Thank you. Really.”
He gives a small grin. “No need to thank me again. All part of the service.”
He frowns. “That neighborhood you’re in, though… it’s not great.”
I think of coming home late, keys already in my hand before I reach the door. Shady-looking people hanging around on the corner. Car engines idling, no one getting out. The hallway light that’s been broken for months.
I exhale. “I know. It’s what I could afford.”
“You shouldn’t be somewhere like that,” Gunnar says.
I look up. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while.
“When you live in the city, you don’t always get a lot of choice,” I say.
He holds my gaze. “You do now.”
My breath catches.
Torin leans back in his chair and laces his hands behind his head. “You could live in a broken-down hotel instead.”
“Not broken-down,” Gunnar growls. “I’ve been making improvements.”
Torin blinks. “Wait a minute,” he says slowly. “There’s electricity.”
“I fixed the generator.”
“Well, wonders will never…” He leans forward, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “What else did I miss?” His gaze slides from Gunnar, to me and back again.
I freeze, staring at my plate, the tips of my ears burning.
“Nothing,” I say, and push back from the table.
I gather up the empty plates and stack them in the dishwasher. “Is it okay if I take some meat for Tabitha?” I ask, rooting in the cupboards for a suitable dish.
“After what she put me through?” Torin says. “She can have the whole pan.”
My eyes drift to his forearms.
“Almost healed,” he says, rubbing at them carelessly.
I frown. The scratches do look old. I think of the injury Orson gave Gunnar. How raw it looked.
How he pulled away from me.
I find a small dish and spoon a little of the meat into it.
“Don’t let her near Orson,” Torin says lightly.
“I won’t.”
I rinse the spoon, set it aside, then dry my hands on the towel.
“I’m going to call it a night,” I say.
“Yeah,” Torin says. “I’m gonna do the same.”
Gunnar looks up as I reach the door. “Night, Alexandria.”
I nod and head down the hall.
Tabitha is waiting just inside the door, pacing.
I set the dish down and she dives into it. I shut the door and lean against it, letting out a long breath. My palms are sweating and I feel all nervous and jumpy.
I don’t want to be in the same room as Gunnar.
I don’t want to be anywhere else.